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March « 2009 « Erika Csomor's Blog

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Archive for March, 2009

Movie star

Sunday, March 29th, 2009

So I became a valley girl….after being a military girl.

After 7 weeks of sweating in the PI, I moved my headquarters to L.A, where the stars supposed to live and shine.

This Sunday I went for my long run to the mountain trails of Malibu. I was whirl winding down on a slope when I ran into my favorite movie star, Brad. When you have 6 kids and a wife that famous, you certainly need to go for a hike alone sometimes. J

He asked the directions for some park. However I had no pink idea (happy if I would found my way back to my car) , I pulled on the foot brake on my trail Avia. I only stopped for a moment, to ask for anbrad-pittautographed card for you girls. Personally I was not interested in the guy. I did not want to make Angelina jealous; she would be a difficult opponent, I guess. He is also not my type. He might act well, but certainly he could not run a good session with me and he would not able to fix (or brake) my bike and has no idea about rolling resistance etc….and of course, there is no way I stop my training for anyone.

My big premier is just a week away. The shoot takes place on Oceanside, as the defending champion I will play the lead. There will be, fight, suffer, chasing, escaping, and OF COURSE happy end with some “dough”.

It is not about triathlon

Thursday, March 19th, 2009

 

Once upon a time, in these 7 years that I spent in the boot camp (at least it felt like 7 years) the boys finished their training earlier and went for grocery shopping. (Somehow the boys always have softer and shorter session than we girls. It is something to do with hormones, I guess…)

So they went. I asked my favorite Canadian to bring me a watermelon from the shop.

He said ok.

He took the task serious, wanted to please me, of course.

He made some laps around the melons and randomly started tapping the biggest one, the same way he saw me previous time. It is the echo from you could decide if the melon is good enough. Of course as a Canadian he had no idea why he is tapping it, so he asked my favorite South-African to check it too. Our road runner was better in show off, he said ok for sure, while he had also no idea.

So he brought me home the biggest and most expensive (import from the States) watermelon tasting like…..not good at all. Of course I appreciate the effort…

Why am I so obsessed about watermelons?!

-Well, you have to know the “ watermelon stealing” is a national sport in Hungary. Something like the curling in Canada. Everyone does it. Except the little girls. I was 5 and my young uncles left me at home all the times saying: “ok, you are fast enough, but you are not an ant and can not run away with your own weight.” You MUST know, an average Hungarian watermelon start at 10 kgs. So I was left out of fun.

-Sometimes actually we bought watermelons at the market and the seller always cut a little hole in them and let them taste before buying. The tasting is always the kid’s job. As I was the only child in the family, it was a huge responsibility pressing my weak shoulder, to chose the melon for the whole family, a very picky family….

So I decided to sharp my melon tapping skills.

I was a farmer kid. After summer, in the fall, I recognized a huge pile of watermelon in our yard. I took the “pig killer” knife and started to crack them one after each to see if they are good enough. Well they were not. When I destroyed about half of the pile, grandpa arrived and asked what the f..k am I doing with the pumpkins?! I told him they are actually watermelons just not ready yet. He was patient and explain me all the difference between melon and pumpkin. The color and the shape….then I SAW. They were the reserved food for the piggies for the winter.

I did not sleep that night due to the disappointment and failure. Next day when no one was around I finished the whole pile off…I never trusted adults. They were watermelons, just not ripe yet. I spent the rest of the day in the closet, hiding from shame. My punishment was eating pumpkin soup, pumpkin pie with pumpkin porridge for a week or two. And all the piggies starved to death during the winter, because if you crack the pumpkin it is gone within a week or two.

Next year, in springtime the family council decided -as the kid remained hopeless- to plant the whole field with watermelon and I was in charge of it. It was a beautiful summer: I spent my whole day out working on the field and my nights guarding my treasures from naughty thieves…Of course they never really arrived to be ready, like a maniac I crack them all before that. But the family was happy (to have me away from their track) and of course the new piggies as well. Pumpkin or melon same for them.

Conclusions:

-Sometimes you have to crack up a whole pile of pumpkin to find your treasure and still not get it. (never give up your dreams and ideas)

But people will see your determination and desire and finally (getting tired by you) they will provide your need. When you got it all, you will see it is not a big deal, and you will spoil it soon.

-do not ask a Canadian to chose you anything , maybe expect pumpkin, they are good in it.

Forever red

Wednesday, March 11th, 2009

 

I grew up on the ideology of Marx and Engels and raised up to be a good communist.

At age of six we got our “little drummer” uniform and made the oath with the 12 commandants. Why “little drummer”? In the former war times the small kids with a drum hung onto their neck made the marching and fighting rhythm.

No drum for us, but we got a whistle instead. Sure we made lot of noises to live up to the standard of these little heros.

At age of 10, we got the red tie and became “pioneer”. It was obligatory optional. “Pioneer” means something like cutting a new path in the jungle, minus we had no jungle around. The literal translation would be “road worker”….building a new bright future.

We also learnt how to fight. I still remember as far as I was not able to throw away the hand grenade more than a few feet- if I did not drop on my feet- I was told to run away faster from it than anyone else.

However I won some championships in shooting as a little drummer.

We have also been told that every American is a “dirty” capitalist (and we sure did not make any difference between Americans and Canadians) , the Coca Cola is a poison and only the monkeys are eating bananas…..(the biggest dream of every Hungarian kids were if they could eat once 1 kg banana)

At age of 14, the week I was planned to enter into the Party of Young Communist, the system disappeared and we have been told everything was a LIE.

Probably this trauma leaded me being a pro triathlete and 20 years later I found myself in an ex American military base camp in the Phillipines heavily poisoned by Coke and eating bananas from the tree.

But I found my disappeared world here in the Team.

WE have a strong and wise leader. (minus the moustache)

All the comrades (including the Czech girls and the little Cuba Ian, of course) are “stahanovist” (after Comrades Stahanov who invented the 60 hours working week) and we are building a new bright future for ourself, singing.

We have rules.

Something like these, after George Orwell (Animal farm):

- All athletes are equal, but some athletes are more equal than others!

- No athletes drink alcohol, TO EXCEL.

- No athletes sleep in bed with SHEETS.

- Two legs good, four legs better!

- No athletes hurt another athletes WITHOUT REASON.

Proletarians of the world, reunion your Forces!

Game over

Sunday, March 1st, 2009

Every athlete is searching his/her own limits and for their biggest annoyance –eventually they find it.

Ironman Malaysia was supposed to be a “fun training race” for me. However these worlds; “fun, race, Malaysia” never appeared in the same page in my history book, this year I decided to forget everything about history and resolution.

So alongside my teammates we made the short trip, staying in the same time zone. We settled down in a luxury (in Asian standard) hotel with a magnificent view for the swim course and the giant eagle hovering the finish gate. I had an impression it was not an eagle but a vulture searching for victims with eager eyes. No wonder why the nasty vulture occupied this spot, the “dropping out” rate on IM Malaysia is 35% according to Alex, our team manager. Unfortunately our little troop with Rei and me not finishing the race- stabilized the statistics.

Well, the race started smoking. Soon I found myself in a small group and I was on holyday, the swim course a very simple out and back course, well marked with flags. It was long and boring.

On the bike I faced with some temptations. Well it was a devilish day for me J The bike course was not separated from the weekend traffic, heavy traffic with scooters are coming along. You could draft anything you want, scooters, cars, donkeys, whatever….In every single loop I saw muslin ladies riding a scooter (if you drive in chador I guess you do not need helmet on the moto) following their husband racing on the course, just to make sure they are not cheating on them? 5 hours a big time without your loved one…

I practiced the left riding, picking up bottles with left hand. You would think for those who has two left hands on the bike (like Donna and me) it is all the same, well I have a lefter hand, dropping all the time the right bottles (those ones are containing the isotonic drink, just to not mention brand here) and ended up with water at the “back up” table….I guess my dehydration problems started here. I was still ok, expect the last one and half hour when it was not fun anymore and started to melt down like an ice cream in the hands of a monkey. Well, it was familiar, happening to me every second day here in the tropics. No worries.

I left the transition on Jelly O legs, what is different from the “normal” elephant legs feeling, but still quite normal after 6 hours hard effort. After few kms usually they are coming along. Usually. On my devilish day I was facing new temptations: First of all: Slow down, slower, walk! Then went on and on: STOP! jump into one of those huge ice bucket at the aid stations….

I felt like a pilot trying to navigate a plain with the fuel stick in the empty zone, grabbing any food and drink (mostly coke-that always helps) and stabilize the dizzy plain.

Very soon, too soon, all red lights was on: fire, empty tank, oil, electricity. The ground was approaching very fast. I looked aside, you do not want to finish in a Malaysian ditch, believe me. There was only one thing to do for a pilot who is not a kamikaze and loving his/her own dear life- pushing the catapult button. (sit down on the roadside)

I was landing in an isolated deserts. I felt relieved, safe. Just for a short distance apart I saw a little devil cursing and kicking the smoking crashed plain. My EGO and my body.

Oh, well, familiar scene, once in a while it is happening to me. Instead of the little prince, Bedouins (inhabitants) were coming to help. They brought some can of petrol, blanket whatever. I was smiling weakly to the gels and salt tablets handed into my palm by Amanda. There was no way to eat those gels, but eagerly put my face into a bowl of soup carried by a guarding angel called Eric (our very own TBB staff). I was sitting there for a while in a referee shirt (black and white stripped) also inherited from Eric, then escaping from the pity fest, I went up into my hotel room. After few hours watching the crack on the ceiling, my ego decided we have to do something! So I took a shiver (shower) and went down to the finish line to check on my teammates fighting hard and finishing great.

The cereal killer (Donna) was having fun in the ice bath with huge smile on her face (what is eventually disappeared when she stood up), Maki with a painful but forever smile on her face, and Hiro like a real samurai shoving no pain or emotion. Matt was already put in some food somewhere. I was proud of their effort and envy them. In the rest of the day and second day they were moving slowly like snails, I did not envy them.

We made a challenging trip back and I try to forget fast the disappointment and learning from the mistakes.

Triathlon is my work, hobby and life. Still have to no forget it is just a game no matter how serious we take it. In games we can make risk, we can win or we can fail. A real player HAS to try everything.

Cheers, Choco